


Welcome Home

by sockslost



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Has romantic undertones I guess, Like not overt but also not totally platonic, Subtle Romance, low-key angst, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockslost/pseuds/sockslost
Summary: A post 4x04/Killer in High Heels fic.Maura comes home with Jane after being in prison.*originally posted to FFN in 2013, but did some editing*





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own the characters. Not making money. ETC. ETC.

Jane is standing in Maura’s kitchen staring into the depths of a steaming pot. 

It’s spaghetti. 

Just simple, plain spaghetti with store bought sauce she picked up on her lunch break. This, she knows, is a mockery of her Italian upbringing but she can’t find it in herself to care. She can never remember the recipe to make it herself and like hell was Jane going to ask her mother for it. 

The last few days have been a rollercoaster of emotions. Everytime she closes her eyes she sees Maura in that orange jumpsuit, sees her being escorted out of the precinct in handcuffs, sees her helpless in the interrogation room with smudged makeup and red eyes. All she can hear is  _ get me out of here, Jane. _

She grips the wooden spoon in her hand so tightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

She never should have left. Why did she leave? Anything could have happened! It could have been Maura they found instead. 

But they didn’t. 

Maura is safe.

And Jane fixed the fuck up of the century and the right person is behind bars. 

And Maura is  _ safe _ . 

She is upstairs showering - shaken, but fine. 

Jane repeats that over and over in her mind, but somehow it doesn’t calm her. 

One shaky breath eases past her mouth as she tries to calm her nerves. She licks her lips and closes her eyes softly.

She has never hated her job more than she has for forcing her into such an impossible situation. She hates her mother for showing Cavanaugh that video. She hates herself most of all for leaving Maura that night. So much worse could’ve happened. 

She lets the wooden spoon fall against the pan and rubs her eyes. 

A soft sound comes from behind her along with a soft voice, "Jane?" 

Jane turns just in time to see Maura lean against the wall. Her arms are lightly crossed over her chest. She is barefoot, in flannel bottoms, and in one of Jane’s faded Boston PD shirts. It nearly swallows her up. 

And it doesn’t take a detective. 

_ Fragile _ is not a word that Jane would ever use to describe Maura, but here and now, it’s the one word that comes immediately to mind. 

Hazel eyes meet hers briefly and in that second-long glance Jane has forgotten how to say the words.

_ I'm sorry. _ __   
_ I love you. _ _   
_ __ Forgive me?

Maura's damp hair sticks to her forehead at odd angles. Jane shoves her hands into her pockets to keep from reaching out. She’s afraid if she touches Maura she’ll shatter her even more, and pieces may be forever lost. She’s afraid that there are already pieces lost, and she doesn’t know how to get them back. 

The silence is deafening.

"I made dinner." Jane says after a moment her voice raspy and fractured. She can’t make her mouth form the words she really wants to say, so she settles for this. 

Maura doesn't meet her eyes, instead they stay fixed somewhere on the tile between them. "I'm not that hungry."

And Jane knows that’s code for something, but her eyes are glued to the fading bruises on pale forearms, to the swollen and bruised eye that looks so much worse without cover up. 

_ Everything  _ looks so much worse in the harsh light of the kitchen while Maura looks so tiny, fresh faced and in borrowed pajamas. 

Whatever response Jane had cultivated gets caught behind her teeth. Her heart  _ aches _ and she can no longer hold back. She steps forward hands unsheathed from pockets. 

Maura flinches at first as Jane brings her hands up, but then sighs as she closes her eyes and leans into the warmth of Jane’s touch. There is a deceptive softness to Jane’s fingers as they gently, barely, grace over the fading bruise near her eye. If hers were open she’d see dark brown eyes troubled and guilty and loving staring right back at her. 

The fingers leave her face and slowly trace down her neck and over her shoulder. She shivers. Maura hopes Jane doesn’t notice the goose bumps breaking out across her skin. Here, and now, she doesn’t care about anything else. So long as Jane keeps touching her, keeps grounding her, she can forget about the last few days and she can fall into the never ending sea of whatever  _ this _ is.

The movement stops.

Maura’s eyes slide open slowly. Jane is standing so close she can smell her perfume, can feel every breath she takes. And the absolute love and adoration and pain shining through Jane’s eyes makes Maura’s breath catch in her throat. She wants to reach up with her own hands and smooth out the line between Jane’s brows, wants to kiss the corner of her mouth and whisper reassuring things. But before her exhausted brain can think of words to make it better, Jane lifts her arm. 

Maura’s eyes fall half-closed and her breath gets trapped in her throat for a moment when soft lips barely touch her skin. The first kiss is hesitant, as Jane briefly pauses over a faded bruise. Jane's lips move to her other arm and she feels warm and full and she never wants to let those feelings go.

Jane doesn’t know what she’s doing. She knows  _ kissing it better  _ doesn’t actually work, but god she hopes it helps. She wants to wrap this woman up in her arms and never let her go. She doesn’t care anymore about any of the rest. 

"Jane." Maura’s mouth moves without permission and the name escapes her on a breathy sigh.

Jane stands back at full height, eyes searching for forgiveness, for understanding, for  _ something. _  Her hand hovers behind Maura's head over her shoulder, unsure of where she should place it. She wants to touch everywhere, wants to put it right over Maura's heart and feel the  _ thump-thump  _ of a steady beat. She wants and wants and wants…and her eyes look right at the bruise around Maura's eye. She blinks. "I'm sorry." The words fall from her mouth in fractured syllables and broken structure. The pad of her thumb lightly sweeps across the swollen skin for a moment before being replaced by another kiss. "I'm so sorry." Her lips stay pressed there as her nose rests against her temple. The hovering hand finally finds a place to land at Maura's waist. She holds her close, like if she doesn't she'll slip right through her fingers.

Maura's not sure who needs this more, herself or Jane.

_ It's okay _ .   
_ It's not your fault _ .   
_ You were just doing your job. _

The sentences cross her mind, but they don't feel right. Nothing feels right but this. Jane feels right. 

Opting out of useless words Maura slinks her arms around Jane's waist, around her back pulling her as close as she can. Jane is still in her work boots, so her head rests perfectly underneath her chin, against her chest. She can hear the steady thrum of her heart beating just underneath bone and tissue.

Solid and steady – like Jane.

Like home.

When Jane pulls away – not completely, but just enough to look at her face – their eyes lock. Jane's eyes are wide and open like  _ let me  _ and  _ please  _ and  _ I'm sorry _ .

And Maura wants to say those words -  _ it's not her fault _ , that  _ none of this is either of their faults _ . She wants to reassure and soothe but she is caught in a tidal wave of emotion, caught in the murky waters of deep brown eyes and loose definitions of what they are and what they could be and  _ she went to jail. _

Nothing seems adequate.

It takes her a moment to decide on a course of action, but when she does she knows exactly what she's going to do. 

Maura leans on her tippy toes grasping at Jane's bicep for leverage. She places a soft, barely-there kiss at the corner of Jane's mouth. "Thank you for saving me." She stays there long enough to feel the slight upturn of Jane's lips. She puts her head back in its place – against Jane's chest, underneath her chin, ear just over the beating of her heart and sighs contently. And it's here that Maura realizes her hands are still at the small of Jane's back, still grasping her shirt in handfuls.

It's going to wrinkle, but she doesn't let go.

Jane's arms wrap around her tighter and she feels Jane's lips press against her temple. "Welcome home, Maura."


End file.
